


Silvery

by acciomerlin



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Canon Era, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Sexual Tension, also he's very much smitten, arthur has inappropriate thoughts about merlin's neckerchief, fortunately for him merlin is right there with him, kissing and stuff, soft moments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 07:35:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28934895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acciomerlin/pseuds/acciomerlin
Summary: Arthur is unhealthily preoccupied with Merlin's neckerchief for reasons he dare not voice.Somehow, Merlin notices anyway.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 32
Kudos: 418





	Silvery

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mmmmay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmmmay/gifts), [emrysflower](https://archiveofourown.org/users/emrysflower/gifts).



> For May, because it was her tweet that inspired this fic and for Emma, because she was pretty excited for it ❤️

As a general rule, Arthur wasn’t overly interested in clothing.

It was just one of the necessities and comforts of life that he succumbed to. When it was summer, he wore light cotton tunics and when came winter, he would don heavy fleece overcoats and wool shawls at night. He wore his leather jacket for hunting and rich velvet robes for banquets and his metal armour for battle. It was all quite mechanical and rooted in requirement. He didn’t even pick out what he wore every day –that was down to his manservant to make sure he was dressed appropriately.

Of course, like everyone else, he did have a few tunics he was partial to and maybe some favourite breeches that he felt flattered his form especially well, but otherwise, clothes weren’t something he spent too much time thinking about –not his own, nor those of others.

Merlin, in utterly predictable fashion, managed to change that. As though he hadn’t thrown Arthur’s carefully constructed world in enough chaos already.

Arthur had idly decided while he watched Merlin putter around his chambers one morning, that he liked him more in his blue tunic –because it brought out his eyes –and thought that he would look even better donned in purple, after which he vaguely started wondering how he could make that happen.

He’d immediately backtracked once he realised what direction his mind was veering off to –because _since when did he have opinions about what other people wore_? Especially a peasant, who didn’t seem to have more than a total of three outfits, none of which were supposed to be remotely exciting and certainly not something the Crown Prince should spend any amount of time thinking about.

And now the neckerchief. The damned _rag_ that Merlin was always wearing around his neck was making Arthur’s mind run around in circles and it was the most absurd thing in the world.

It had begun in the forest, along the banks of the steady stream of clear water where Merlin was attempting the impressive feat of multitasking. They had taken a short break from their hunt at noon and Merlin had decided to utilise the time to gather herbs for Gaius instead of listening to Sir Owain describe his first night with his new bride in painstaking detail.

Arthur could admit that after a while, the topic was getting a bit tedious and he much preferred spending the rest of the afternoon tormenting Merlin instead. He excused himself from the party and went to look for his manservant.

He found Merlin ankles deep in the water, attempting to dislodge a plant from between two moss-covered rocks. He’d removed his boots and jacket near the tree where his satchel was kept, and rolled up the sleeves of his tunic, which didn’t matter much because most of it was wet anyway.

The sunlight streaming in through the canopy of trees overhead made the water sparkle, and Merlin with it. He looked like the kind of ethereal fae creatures his nursemaid had used to tell him stories about and Arthur had to force himself to keep walking rather than stare at him like a love-struck loon (which he wasn’t).

“Need some help?” he called by way of a greeting as he came to stand at the water’s edge.

Merlin straightened up and glanced at him, raising a dubious eyebrow. “And I’m supposed to believe you came here to help?”

“Fair,” Arthur admitted with a shrug. “I was bored of listening to the many ways Owain can make women moan. I’m not sure there _are_ that many ways to moan.”

Merlin sniggered and finally wrenched the root of the plant from between the rocks, stumbling dangerously with the force of it.

Arthur’s arm shot out on instinct to steady him but he was too far.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Merlin said as he gained his balance and started to walk over the smooth pebbles towards dry ground.

However, not a second after his claim, he slipped again on an especially slimy area of moss and cried out as he fell forward

Arthur’s reflexes acted up and this time Merlin was close enough for him to catch. He caught hold of his neckerchief and pulled him in, the other hand snagging on his waist. Merlin collided against him with a punched out _‘oof’._

It ended with Merlin being too close to Arthur, their bodies pressed up together and Merlin’s stuttered breaths fanning over his jaw. Arthur’s fingers were still tightly clenched around the front of his neckerchief and in a stunning show of impropriety, his mind flew to a completely different place from the situation at hand.

Arthur couldn’t see Merlin’s lips from his angle but he could picture them –pink and slightly parted –and he imagined using his grip on the neckerchief to manoeuvre Merlin’s mouth onto his own.

Some remaining sane part of his mind gave a jolt at how much he liked that image and he abruptly released Merlin in shock, stepping back hastily.

Arthur begrudgingly and only under copious amounts of ale could admit that he had a little bit of a _thing_ for Merlin but he had gotten quite adept at ignoring it. He was confident that it would go away in due time.

However, this sort of reaction startled him, suggesting that this _thing_ ran a bit deeper than what he’d previously suspected and wouldn’t be so easily rid of.

Fortunately, Merlin hadn’t noticed his momentary insanity and was already lacing up his boots by the tree, the weeds tightly clutched in his hands and prattling on about the number of times he’d nearly gotten his head cracked open while running errands for Gaius.

Arthur didn’t think he could bring himself to hold Merlin’s gaze for the next several hours. He could still feel the wet imprint of Merlin’s fingers where they’d landed on his shoulders and despite the heat, shuddered a little.

The rest of the day was going to be very long.

*-*-*

Arthur could scarcely appreciate the fickle nature of perception when he was being forced to face it in this manner. A tatty piece of cloth that had meant nothing to him only a few days ago, that only ever existed outside the conscious realm of his awareness was now wreaking havoc in his mind, and he was far too frustrated to possibly ponder the philosophical implications of it.

No matter how much he tried to expel the image from his mind, it would still come soaring to the forefront whenever Merlin was in proximity, _always_ wearing that idiotic rag that made Arthur’s fingers itch to grab it and draw Merlin forward to turn his delirious imagination into reality.

It was becoming enough of a distraction to pose a considerable problem, at least in Arthur’s opinion, since trailing off in the middle of a conversation with his father simply because his manservant’s neckerchief was dangling in his periphery while pouring wine frankly required rigorous reorganisation of Arthur’s priorities in life.

In addition to fixing his own thoughts, he also needed to employ tact in order to eliminate this threat to his sanity. Arthur believed in direct problem-focused approaches, and the problem in this case was Merlin’s neckerchiefs and their ability to make Arthur’s brain sprout with half-mad fantasies.

A tourney had been held to mark the end of winter and rouse the city from the season’s lethargy with some excitement. Arthur, as usual, was participating and likely winning it too.

“Don’t be so sure,” Merlin remarked as he fitted the spaulder into place at Arthur’s shoulder. “Maybe someone will outdo you this time.”

Arthur snorted. “You can’t possibly believe that, Merlin.”

“Crazier things have happened,” Merlin replied ominously.

“Then I’ll need a bit of extra luck on my side, won’t I?” Arthur said, glancing at him as an idea formed in his head. “Something like a lady’s favour.”

Merlin shrugged as he lifted Arthur's arm to check on the vambrace. “I suppose, if you want.”

“Except I don’t have time to get one right now,” Arthur continued, making sure to stare pointedly at Merlin’s neckerchief, a dull red one that morning.

Merlin must have identified the odd tone of his voice because he looked up at him with a frown. “And what do you want me to do about it?”

“I need a _lady’s favour_ ,” Arthur repeated with emphasis.

"So? I'm neither a lady, nor do I favour you,” Merlin said, crossing his arms.

Arthur huffed out a short laugh. “Indeed? Then I suppose it wasn't you who was cheering for me loud enough to attract stares during the last joust?"

Merlin’s ears turned red and he viciously pushed Arthur’s helmet into his hands. "Shut up,” he mumbled and that was the end of that.

*-*-*

It finally slipped the confines of Arthur’s mind when he was deep in his cups one evening, upset and well on his way to throwing a hissy fit –as Merlin called them –if he didn’t have a goblet of the strongest wine in their cellars to comfortably numb him from all his worldly troubles.

Merlin found him halfway to oblivion when he arrived at his chambers, raising an eyebrow as he caught sight of the carafe of wine on the table. “You don’t waste any time, do you? Didn’t even wait for me to serve you.”

“I can serve myself,” Arthur informed him dryly.

“Then that makes me sort of obsolete, doesn’t it?” Merlin commented, stoking the fire to life.

Arthur took a sip in favour of answering and watched Merlin as he hunched in front of the hearth, the slowly rising flames illuminating his profile in the most fascinating manner.

Merlin had always been remarkably skilled at making fires, the flames licking up lazily at his coaxing command, as though somehow entranced by him. Arthur knew the feeling well.

The goblet nearly slipped from Arthur’s hand when Merlin got a bit too close to the blazing fire and almost set his neckerchief alight. Merlin sat back abruptly and shot Arthur a sheepish grin, who was already out of his chair.

Arthur scowled. “Why do you insist on wearing that thing anyway?”

Merlin brought up a protective hand to his throat. “What do you mean?”

“It’s summer, Merlin,” Arthur said, tipsily leaning against the table for support. “Surely you must be hot. You should take it off.”

Merlin made an indignant noise and took a step closer. “It’s hardly summer! Do you have any idea how cold it gets in my room at night? You should be offering me more clothes, not ordering off my existing ones.”

Those weren’t the choicest words Merlin could’ve used because now Arthur was thinking of ordering off his clothes.

Well, there was an idea. A slow smile spread over Arthur’s face and he wondered how he’d missed something so simple and brilliant.

“I order you to take off your clothes,” he said in his most authoritative voice, adding uncertainly, “If you want, I mean.”

“What?” An odd sort of expression crossed Merlin’s features as he stared at Arthur.

Arthur stared back…and then hiccupped. The moment broke.

Merlin chuckled a little forcefully and moved forward to take the goblet from Arthur’s fingers. "Right, um," he said, cheeks pink. "I think it's time we put you to bed, sire."

Arthur tried to protest that he wasn’t a child but the way Merlin was ignoring him made him a little unsure of the fact himself.

Arthur absently tried to grab at Merlin’s neckerchief as he manhandled him into his sleep clothes but Merlin just stopped him with warm hands and a breathless laugh, before finally shoving him in the direction of the bed.

“Get between the covers,” Merlin ordered. “I’ll blow out the candles in a minute.”

Arthur obediently did as he asked and slipped under the blankets, craning his neck to see Merlin drawing the drapes close.

When he came by Arthur’s bedside to blow out the candle, Arthur unthinkingly caught his sleeve and _pulled._

Merlin lost his balance and with a startled yelp, tumbled down over Arthur, hands landing on his shoulders, their faces inches apart. He tried to get up but Arthur held on.

"Arthur, let me go,” Merlin whispered, his grip on Arthur’s shoulder tightening infinitesimally.

Arthur’s gaze on his face was steady. "You have a very pretty mouth."

Merlin's eyes were wide and he didn’t even seem to be registering that he was moving closer. "What?" he breathed.

However, Arthur had already forgotten what he'd said. He frowned. "What?"

Merlin exhaled shakily, running a hand through his hair and almost looking a touch disappointed. "You're drunk."

"And you're an idiot,” Arthur retorted.

Merlin rolled his eyes. "What did I do now?"

"What didn't you do?” Arthur pouted. “Everything's your fault."

"Right,” Merlin replied with a soft smile. “I shall go and miserably ponder over all my life's mistakes tonight before sleeping. Will that be alright with you?"

Arthur nodded sagely. "It'll do.”

Merlin chuckled, his eyes warm pools of blue. "Now let go my hand, Arthur."

So, Arthur did but Merlin still took a moment to get up, looking like he was gathering his resolve to do something. He gave in with a small sigh and swept a hand over Arthur’s forehead, brushing his hair away.

Arthur’s eyes fluttered close.

The last thing he felt was Merlin's warm weight lifting off his body, making him feel oddly bereft and the last thing he heard was the door of his chambers clicking shut.

..

The next morning, Arthur’s head was all foggy and fuzzy with pain and he groaned when Merlin’s opened the drapes to let the morning light in.

He vaguely asked Merlin if he’d said anything weird the night before but Merlin just mumbled incoherently, sporting a light blush and handed him Gaius’s nasty hangover potion with a surly retort that seemed more than a little forced.

Arthur had barely any time to be bewildered about Merlin’s suspiciously shy behaviour before the first drop of the atrocious potion touched his tongue and he forgot all else.

*-*-*

Arthur didn't actually have anything to do with it when it finally happened. He wasn’t that low on self-preservation instincts, despite what Merlin liked to claim on the contrary.

No, it was because of Merlin’s own half-wit brain that he forgot to bring bandages in his medical kit on patrol, where a solitary bandit caught them off-guard and shot an arrow at Arthur from a tree with surprisingly precise aim.

Although not inflicting life-threatening damage, it did manage to pierce through the mail he was wearing and resulted in an open wound.

The knights promptly spread around to scope out the woods for more potential threats after the bandit from the tree was swiftly dispatched, and Arthur stayed back for Merlin to tend to him.

They carefully removed the armour and chainmail, leaving Arthur in only his gambeson that was bloody and torn at the upper arm sleeve.

Merlin’s frown deepened as he rummaged through his satchel once again.

Arthur studied him critically, one hand on the hilt of his sword even as his arm flared with dizzying pain.

“Bandages aren’t going to materialise out of thin air if you look enough times, Merlin,” he said roughly.

“Just checking,” Merlin replied shortly, sitting back with a sigh when his search proved fruitless.

He fiddled with the hem of his neckerchief, appearing to think a lot about whether he wanted to use it, despite it clearly being the most convenient option.

Arthur was more than a little offended at his indecision.

"Hurry up," he snapped irritably. “Or are you waiting for me to bleed out?”

Merlin rolled his eyes, finally moving to unknot the cloth from the back of his neck. "Be quiet, it's just a shallow cut. You're hardly going to die from blood loss."

Arthur huffed indignantly and Merlin shifted closer on his knees at Arthur’s side, tying the neckerchief around the injury with singular focus and care. It was a sophisticated tourniquet and Arthur took a moment to be silently impressed by how far Merlin had come in his skills as a physician’s apprentice.

The tight pressure of the tied cloth helped with the pain and Arthur exhaled a little shakily, causing Merlin to look up sharply in concern.

He brought a hand to Arthur’s forehead, pushing back the sweaty strands of hair to feel his skin. “Are you feeling cold? Nauseous?” He looked around, his mouth downturned. “The knights should’ve been back by now, it’s best that we return to Camelot with haste.”

Arthur’s chest constricted a little at the easy touches Merlin bestowed upon him, in the way no one else had done before.

He swallowed. “I’m fine, Merlin,” he insisted, brushing his hand away. “Besides, we aren’t done with the patrol –”

“I don’t care,” Merlin cut him short, looking him straight in the eye in a way that few dared to do. “I’m not risking infection. And don’t bother arguing with me –we’re turning back, with or without the knights.”

Arthur tried to feel outraged at this instead of outrageously attracted to him.

Before he could settle on a reply, there was sound of footsteps.

Fortunately, the knights were spared Merlin’s wrath and chose that moment to reappear, reporting no other bandits in the vicinity.

Arthur begrudgingly took Leon aside to tell him to lead the party in his absence and complete the patrol while he, Merlin and a handful of knights returned to Camelot.

Arthur pretended that none of this had anything to do with Merlin and the tone he’d taken with Arthur earlier, but he also couldn’t miss the way Merlin smiled at him with approval from the distance.

Arthur felt his mouth lifting upwards too as he stared back.

Leon sighed, looking pained, and went to gather the knights for further instructions.

..

By the time they reached the Citadel, dusk had fallen and it was completely dark outside when they made it back to Arthur’s chambers after a short detour to Gaius, who assured them that there was nothing to worry about.

He pressed a bottle into Merlin’s hand nevertheless and sent them on their way.

Merlin sat Arthur down on the edge of the bed and cleaned the wound, applying antiseptic salve, and gave him a potion to reduce the pain that Arthur chugged back with fervent relief.

Arthur had been too preoccupied with pain to pay much attention to Merlin on their way back but now that he was settled in his warm room, his arm going comfortably numb, he noticed for the first time that Merlin was without a neckerchief. He couldn’t stop his eyes from drifting to his uncovered throat as he prepared Arthur for bed.

Not that the infernal neckerchief being tossed in the wash helped Arthur’s predicament in the least. Because now he was exposed to even more of Merlin's milky pale skin than before –tantalisingly illuminated by the candlelight.

Maybe he could chalk it up to blood loss and delirium later but in that moment, Arthur was forced to wonder with a dazed sort of curiosity how it would feel like to put his mouth on the expanse of that graceful neck, to bite down lightly on the partially visible clavicle, what sort of noises Merlin would make at the contact, how his skin would bloom with colour after being marked by Arthur's kisses –

"Arthur?"

Arthur snapped out his reverie and wrenched his gaze upwards. "Huh?"

Merlin was giving him a strange look. "Is the pain manageable or do you need something stronger?"

Arthur shook his head, blinking rapidly to clear his head. “No, it’s –it’s all right,” he stuttered, fighting off an embarrassing blush. “Thank you. You can go.”

Merlin’s eyebrows raised high as he lifted his hands to his hips. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay? I don’t remember the last time you were this polite.”

Arthur shot him a half-hearted glare and sunk down on the bed, suddenly feeling exhausted to the bone now that the adrenaline was wearing off.

“Shut up,” he mumbled as an afterthought, his eyes drooping heavily as the sedative in the potion started taking effect.

“That’s more like it,” Merlin said with a smile, too soft to be teasing and Arthur’s heart gave a weak flutter.

“Sleep well, Arthur.”

*-*-*

Gwen nearly got a coronary attack when Arthur suddenly called out her name in the middle of an empty corridor.

She whirled around to face him, clutching the laundry basket tightly to her chest. “Arthur! You gave me a fright!”

He was clearly avoiding the meaningless gathering of nobles that Uther was holding in the Great Hall at that very moment and she was surprised to not see Merlin in sight, who usually helped Arthur carry out these little rebellions.

“Forgive me, Guinevere” he said with a sheepish look. “I didn’t mean to startle you. It’s just that I saw –” he trailed off distractedly, his gaze snagging on the basket in her hands.

She eyed him dubiously. “Was there anything you needed?”

He sighed, pushing a hand through his hair. He met her eyes, gesturing to the clothes piled up in the basket. “May I?”

Gwen nodded a little hesitantly and Arthur slowly brought up a hand to touch Morgana’s new deep purple gown, running his fingers through the material almost reverently. “This is a beautiful colour,” he said under his breath.

To say that Gwen was gobsmacked would be putting it lightly because she had never, _never_ known Arthur to be interested in ladies’ gowns or their _colours._

Arthur caught sight of her expression and hastily released the gown, a faint flush tinting his cheeks. “Uh, sorry. It’s well –the colour is er, quite nice. And I was wondering if you know where Morgana commissioned the fabric?”

Gwen’s suspicions deepened. “I do. There’s a trader who’s set up a stall in the marketplace. He sells expensive dyes and cloths from foreign lands in the East and this one caught Morgana’s eye the other day.”

“I can see why,” Arthur replied, looking at the gown again but his mind seeming far away.

“I’m sorry if I’m overstepping,” Gwen began cautiously, “but is there a particular reason you are asking?”

Arthur’s head snapped up in surprise, and he cleared his throat. “Yes, certainly. I am looking to gift something to…someone.”

_Ah. There it was._

Gwen grinned. “Of course, sire,” she said smoothly. “Perfectly understandable. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

Arthur stared at her for a moment but then laughed, shaking his head –knowing that she _knew_.

He smiled a boyish, endearing smile. “Thank you. I hope so too.”

*-*-*

Arthur tried to keep his eyes firmly on the land revenue policy papers before him but no matter how much he resisted, they kept straying to the wrapped bundle resting a few feet towards the edge of the table.

He tapped his foot impatiently and craned his neck behind to look outside the window. The moon was high in the sky by now and Merlin should’ve been there at least an hour before, if not more.

But it was fine, Arthur could excuse it this one. Yes, a thread of worry was starting to niggle into his mind but he was sure it would be proven unfounded. If only Merlin would just bloody show up –

The door burst open and to his immense relief, Merlin strode inside, slamming the door shut behind him.

He didn’t greet Arthur and immediately went to tend to the dying fire with an unnatural sense of purpose. His jaw was stiff and his expression sour and annoyed.

“What the hell happened to you?” Arthur blurted out, a little taken aback by his demeanor.

Merlin gave him a look cold enough to shrivel up lesser men.

He seemed frayed at the edges, his nerves rubbed raw and there was something intense simmering beneath the surface. He was unguarded and vulnerable in a way that Arthur could hardly remember happening before. It felt like he was just too tired to put up his usual walls and his emotions were exposed for anyone to see.

“Well?” Arthur prodded in a gentler tone.

Merlin sighed, massaging his temple. "Nothing, just had a bad day," he revealed, which was surprising in its own right because he never told Arthur that, preferring to carry his burdens alone.

Arthur wanted to know what had happened to make him like this, wanted to soothe and comfort but he didn’t know how. So, he just resorted to aching for him from a distance. As always.

He cleared his throat. “Well, if it will make you feel better, I have something for you here.”

“More armour to clean or socks to wash?” Merlin muttered darkly, without looking up.

Arthur tried not to let it sting. “No. I’m serious. I got something for you.”

That got Merlin’s attention and he looked up, standing slowly and blinking owlishly at Arthur. He could finally see his mind draw away from the events of the day and focus on what was happening now.

Arthur reached out to grab the wrapped bundle and tossed it to him. Merlin caught it and stared at it in confusion.

Arthur rolled his eyes, getting up from his chair and coming to stand closer to him. “Well, don’t just gawk at it. Open it.”

Merlin startled a little and gave him another wide-eyed look before hesitantly unwrapping it, as though unsure if this was a joke or not.

The wrapping floated to the floor as he unfolded the rich purple tunic and his eyes became even bigger if possible.

“I don’t understand,” Merlin said hollowly, thumbing the collar of the tunic. “Why?”

Arthur bit his lip, not having anticipated that question. Most people just accepted his gifts without cross-examining him. Merlin was not most people.

"Um, it’s for your… birthday," Arthur answered uncertainly.

Merlin's brows furrowed. "It's not my birthday. I don't even know my birthday."

Arthur frowned. "How do you celebrate it then?"

Merlin shrugged, his hands still feeling the tunic in his hands. “I usually don’t. Mum just bakes my favourite berry pie two days after the harvest festival if it’s a big one."

“Fine,” Arthur sighed. “Well, just think of it as an advance gift for your twenty-fifth birthday or something. That’s a big one, right?"

Merlin was still tightly clutching the top of the tunic, enough to turn his knuckles white. His eyes were stormy when they met Arthur’s.

“This collar is pretty high,” he stated in a measured voice.

Arthur’s brows furrowed. He was surprised Merlin had noticed that. It was just a little touch from the tailor to make it look more regal, since he probably thought Arthur was having it stitched for another noble. He hadn’t really thought much on it.

“I…suppose,” he replied.

Merlin swallowed. “What’s this really about, Arthur? You know I can’t wear my neckerchief with this.”

“What does that have to do with anything –”

“Everything!” Merlin exclaimed, suddenly looking angry and incredulous and hurt all at once. “I know you don’t like it, I’m not stupid. And because you can’t stand not getting your way, you got me this ridiculous tunic when you couldn’t bully me into throwing my neckerchiefs away –”

Arthur staggered a little in shock. “Merlin, _no_ –”

Merlin huffed out a humourless laugh. “It feels mad to be even saying this because how absurd is it that you've even taken notice of this silly thing much less have some kind of problem with it? Surely not every aspect of me could be so annoying and repulsive to you that you can't even stand the sight of a little cloth around my neck –”

“Merlin.”

“Because I _have_ noticed your idiotic behaviour, no matter how subtle you think you were being –”

“Merlin, enough!” Arthur cried. “I didn’t have anything to do with the collar, _I swear._ ”

Merlin took a moment to catch his breath, studying him critically.

“Fine. Say I believe you,” he conceded at last. “But you do hate my neckerchiefs, don’t you?”

Arthur stared at him imploringly, wondering how the evening had come to _this_. “It’s not what you think.”

“I knew it,” Merlin muttered bitterly, tossing the balled-up tunic on the bed and crossing his arms in a defensive posture.

Arthur pushed a hand through his hair, chuckling weakly. “You don’t actually. You really don’t.”

Merlin raised his gaze to Arthur’s in surprise. “What are you talking about?”

Arthur pursed his lips, his heart picking up pace. “I... can't say. It's stupid.”

Merlin uncrossed his arms and took a step closer, looking genuinely puzzled now. “What’s stupid? What’s going on?”

Arthur remained stubbornly silent.

“Arthur.”

“No.”

 _“Arthur!_ ”

Arthur groaned in frustration, nearly coming undone at his voice. “You are _infuriating,_ you know that? You know what, _fine_. I’ll bloody tell you,” he took a deep breath, “It's not that I don't like your neckerchiefs. It's that...I like them too much. I like them far more than I ought to.”

Silence descended upon the room and Merlin gaped at him like he thought Arthur gone insane.

Arthur fought hard to keep from blushing. He would _not_ be embarrassed further.

 _“What_?” Merlin finally echoed. “What on earth does that even mean?”

Arthur swallowed thickly and soldiered on. He was not a coward, dammit.

“Your neckerchiefs make me have thoughts. Improper thoughts. Like –like pulling you in with it and snogging you within an inch of your damn life.”

There was an exasperating lack of response from Merlin and Arthur was getting increasingly uncomfortable.

The crackle of the roaring fire was the only sound to be heard in the room and the tension was stifling, the stillness even more so. Arthur desperately wished for the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

Until Merlin stepped into his space and whispered. “Do it.”

Arthur met his eyes in alarm, but there was not a hint of humour or deception to be found in their blue depths.

"What?" he breathed.

Merlin took Arthur’s right hand and placed it on his throat. "I said do it."

Heart thundering wildly against his ribs, Arthur slowly clutched the cloth in his fingers and _pulled._

Merlin offered no resistance, coming forward on unsteady feet so that their mouths could press together in an ultimately inevitable turn of events.

It was just a tentative brush of lips at first, feeling so fragile and breakable that Arthur didn't dare breathe. There was a faint buzzing in his ears and he struggled to make sense of the situation, to focus on anything that wasn’t Merlin’s touch.

But then the moment shifted and Merlin pressed a bit more firmly, his hand coming up to cradle his jaw and Arthur had no choice but to part his lips open. Merlin angled his head a little to the side, their mouths slotting together with an intoxicating pressure and _yes, this._ A soft groan escaped from deep in Arthur's chest and he could feel Merlin smiling against his lips.

They both got a little impatient after that, with Arthur being backed into the table by a slightly frantic Merlin who was kissing him senseless in a way that possibly suggested that he'd been wanting to do it for quite some time.

Arthur's grip on his neckerchief tightened helplessly as Merlin’s tongue did wondrous things inside his mouth, and he slowly trailed his hands over the fabric until they reached the back. He fumbled with the cloth, his fingers jerky as they attempted to unknot it.

Merlin let out a pleased hum when it finally came loose and fell to the floor.

Arthur broke apart and tipped Merlin's head back, planting open-mouthed kisses along his throat as Merlin's shuddered in his arms.

He was delighted to discover in due time that Merlin was indeed liable to make soft whining noises if Arthur sucked a bruise on the tender spot below his ear and that his skin did colour beautifully afterwards.

Arthur’s problem ceased being a problem very swiftly after that.

In the months that followed, it became somewhat of a habit for Arthur to pull Merlin into the secluded alcoves scattered around the castle with his neckerchief or during dressing when he wouldn’t shut up.

The demand for neckerchiefs went up in the market as they started finding new uses for them and Arthur no longer had to stop himself from playfully tugging on the cloth whenever it was dangling distractedly at his side, which always somehow ended up with Merlin in his lap.

The garment was also conveniently effective at hiding the lovebites that Arthur loved peppering Merlin's skin with and he found that just the act of untying the neckerchief could be largely rewarding –to watch Merlin shiver when Arthur's fingers worked to finally reveal the lovely neck that he adored so very much, just like every other part of him.

As a general rule, Arthur wasn’t overly interested in clothing.

Except when it came to one person.

*-*-*

**Author's Note:**

> Don't look at me, I took a week out of my life to completely ignore my responsibilities and wrote this during it 😭 I'll be proceeding to a state of panic now.
> 
> Thank you for reading and hope you liked it!  
> I'm on [tumblr](https://acciomeriin.tumblr.com/)!


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